


Always Something

by Fyliwion



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anderson is a Fan Boy, Crack, Did we mention the crack, Everything goes wrong with Sherlock involved, Ficlet, Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes, Holidays, Not the Birthday Fic Your Looking For, Other, Qustionable, Sherlockians, references to drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyliwion/pseuds/Fyliwion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Lestrade drag Sherlock out for a night of drinking and celebrations. </p><p>But then when Sherlock is involved.... something's always bound to go wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Something

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the Birthday Fic your looking for.  
> It's also crack and written entirely with love. You've been warned. 
> 
> Tentative thanks to **Eialyne** for forcing me to post it and in-depth betaing.

It was Greg’s idea.

John went along with it because it had been a hell of a year, and he could use something to forget the last year. Or the last several years for that matter.

Sherlock didn’t have a choice this time around.

The pub was just a block from them on Baker street The venue happened to be a nice quiet, cozy place that fit the normal stereotype of “London Pub.” The beer line was good, a decent assortment of whiskeys were at hand, and Greg and John had begun meeting there regularly after the second Moriarty fiasco had led to the doctor moving back in with the detective.

That said, it was a rare occasion to get the obstinate flatmate to join.

However, there were no murders. No bodies. No dead paramours or blackmailers. No napoleons of crime seeking to raise their undead head and turn the world on end. And lastly, no international crimes committed by the so called “heroes” of their sorry lives.

Greg had his phone turned off.

John had his silenced.

Sherlock’s was confiscated.

And all through the detective’s groaning and dissension, the two men had one purpose:

After the Impaled-on-a-Christmas-Tree-Lover on Christmas Eve-

Then the locked room murder on Boxing Day-

And of course the bank bomber incident on New Years...

Get the arrogant arse a proper birthday.

But it was already eight pm on the sixth. There were no phones, no incidents, no snipers, and nothing that might interfere with having a couple rounds for a detective’s small (and reluctant) birthday party.

“Just two Sherlock and then you can leave. Give us that much will-” John was in the middle of saying as they walked through into an eerily silent room.

“Then a toast! To Sherlock Holmes!” Philip Anderson’s voice rang through the pub.

Sharp and clear he stood in the center of the room, standing with his glass raised high and absolutely beaming at the crowd.

The host rushed over to greet them, “Sorry Gents-” she said sheepishly. “Private event in the main room. I can make some room at the bar in the corner if you like, but it’s a bit of a crowd you see….”

Sherlock had gone still. John, in the meantime, was looking about trying to take in the inordinate amount of deerstalkers as Sherlock muttered, “Anderson’s idea” rather scathingly under his breath.

Lestrade fought back laughter.

“Please tell me you had no part in this,” Sherlock’s tone was bordering on murder.

John was too stunned to even laugh, unlike Lestrade who was beginning to turn a bright shade of burgundy, “Swear on my life Sherlock. No idea.”

The room, meanwhile, was clinking glasses and began to sing a round of happy birthday, poorly, whilst Sherlock pinched his nose and turned to leave.

“Oh. My. God-” a sharp piercing voice cut through the sound of the abysmally sung happy birthday. A woman stood in the doorway, mouth hung open, wearing a deerstalker, and a blue scarf that John couldn’t help but notice with amusement. “It’s HIM!” she yelled, her voice cracking and causing half a dozen heads all to turn instantaneously.

Anderson managed to look mildly put out.

Lestrade gave up holding back the laughter, and instead devolved into tears of mirth.

John groaned.

“John. We’re going.”

To which the yells began:

_“But you-”_

_“Happy Birthday!”_

_“Oh my god it’s actually-”_

_“Please stay-”_

John threw up his hands as Sherlock dove through the door sending the girl in the deerstalker flying.

Lestrade was still doubled over, useless. 

Half a moment later and Sherlock had fled entirely. Lestrade, finally able to breathe, grinned at John, “Now you believe me?”

John stared at Anderson who was still yelling for order. With a chuckle he turned towards the door.

“When it comes to Sherlock? Always something.”


End file.
